


Curiosity Killed the Cat They Say – But Hardly is it Mentioned that Satisfaction Brought it Back

by Nordic_Breeze



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, Cutesy, F/M, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Reader-Insert, Timid Reader, tilly/reader friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 12:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18222881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nordic_Breeze/pseuds/Nordic_Breeze
Summary: Arthur catches you poking around in his tent.





	Curiosity Killed the Cat They Say – But Hardly is it Mentioned that Satisfaction Brought it Back

Chop-chop-chop. One more. Chop-chop. And another. It never ends. For the last two weeks, you’ve cut, sliced and chopped more than you thought was humanly possible and you wonder if the _chop-chop_ sound is going to haunt you in your sleep. You tip the cutting board to a 45-degree angle, chucking hacked potatoes into the cauldron with the help of the knife. Before moving onto onions, your least favorite vegetable because of how they make your eyes burn, you allow yourself a break. You arch your back and stretch your neck, feeling the summer breeze on your face. You rub your lower back with light circles, a small grunt escaping your lips.

“It’s a glamorous life eh, the life of an outlaw.”

A smile tugs at your lips, and you turn to the source of the sardonic but benevolent comment.

“So it seems.”

Despite your short time with the van der Linde gang, Tilly had already become a close friend. The best friend you’ve ever had to be honest. You’re close to Karen and Mary-Beth as well, but with Tilly, you could share anything.

“At least we’re off that mountain,” the young woman smiles, adding dirty plates to the basin. “For a moment there, I was sure we would all freeze to death.”

You agree. After the hasted escape from Blackwater, for what exact reasons you weren’t entirely sure, and being trapped for days in the mountains up west, at a place called Colter or something thanks to a badly timed snowstorm, arriving at Horseshoe Overlook had felt like entering paradise.

Your eye wanders the new camp site. It’s quiet today. Little Jack Marston is poking at the ground with a stick on the small patch of grass outside Dr. Strauss’ tent with Abigail watching over him. You feel for the boy and wish he had someone his age to play with. Behind young Marston you see the silhouette of Molly overlooking the canyon, no doubt wondering where Dutch has gone off to, the light summer breeze playing with her red hair. The aforementioned doctor is sitting in the shade, jotting down notes in one of his many ledgers. Reverend Swanson is still sleeping off last night’s intoxication. You spot Karen and Mary-Beth across the camp, doing laundry under the scrutinizing gaze of Ms. Grimshaw. Lenny’s on guard duty again. You wave at him, which he returns. Behind him, the newest surprise member of your little group, Kieran Duffy, is attending to the remaining horses. From the corner of your eye, you see Mr. Morgan mounting his horse, getting ready to leave the camp site. Had it been only a few days ago, the sight would’ve brought you relief. Ever since you joined the van der Lindes a few days before Christmas last year you’ve been wary of Dutch’s lead enforcer and right-hand man, seeing him as crude, ruthless and mean. But as of late, you’ve begun to notice things. Like Jack’s liking of the man and the fondness in his voice when he talks to his horse. You have no problem spotting an animal lover when you see one and Mr. Morgan undoubtedly cares deeply for his horse. And when you and the other girls had joined Bill and Mr. Morgan for a visit into town last week, he had been so kind to the one-armed war veteran when he thought no one saw or heard. Had you been misjudging him all these months? Your eyes remain glued to the person of interest as he disappears into the forest.

“He ain’t as bad as he seems, <y/n>, he’s just - he's a good man. Beneath it all.”

Tilly’s comment catches you off-guard. You’d almost forgotten she was there. Had your eye-tracking been _that_ obvious. You feel a slight tingle in your cheeks and mumble something that’s supposed to be brushing the whole thing off as nothing, making it even more obvious it’s anything but.

“Break’s over, ladies. Back to work.”

Pearson’s gruff voice startles you and you cuss yourself for getting lost in thought, making you a target. You roll your eyes at your friend who gives you an acknowledging grin as you pick two onions for the cutting board.

“You still up for Dominoes later?”

“You bet. And this time, it’s my turn to win,” you insist with a cheeky grin as you pick up the knife, bracing yourself for the inevitable eye-burn.

“I wouldn’t hold my breath on that if I was you.”

~*~

Kitchen duty over and done with, you go to your spot outside the girl’s tent for a rest, letting the warm sun kiss your skin. Your mind wanders to Mr. Morgan and your gaze to his empty tent. You’d barely spoken to him but as of late, you’ve been thinking about him more than you care to admit. As you’ve come to see a soft and kind side to this gruff and hardened outlaw you find yourself wanting to talk to him but try as you may you can’t seem to find the courage to strike up a conversation, nor do you know what to say. You’ve always been a timid soul, and Morgan’s coarse nature doesn’t exactly help. Recently you’ve asked the others about him. Hosea, Jack, Tilly and Lenny mostly. There was no lack of stories, denoting a complex and possibly conflicted man capable of both cruelty and kindness alike. This did nothing to settle your curiosity, quite the contrary.

Before you know it, you’re on your feet. You tell yourself you’re just going for a stroll to enjoy the view. You just so happen to be passing by Morgan’s tent. You halt, eyes circling the green tarp, remembering Morgan riding off earlier that day. You’re tempted to look around. You know you shouldn’t, but curiosity gets the better of you. Maybe you’ll find something that could give you an excuse to strike up a conversation. So, in an effort to know him better, you enter the tarpaulin to have a look around, thinking he'll be gone all day. You are wrong.

You start by studying the pictures and horseshoe above his cot. You recognize Dutch and Hosea from many years ago and a man in his late teens or early twenties that’s likely a young Arthur Morgan. You see a mugshot of a man you presume is his father and a picture of a dog. On the counter behind the cot you spot a newspaper clip, which you read, and a picture of a beautiful, dark-haired woman. On the nightstand you find a small, sealed-up jar, a picture of his mother, cigarettes and hair pomade. The latter surprises you. The tent’s owner doesn’t strike you as the type who would care for that sort of thing. You pick up the jar. Inside is a flower with pinkish-red petals. Mr. Morgan is just full of surprises, isn’t he? You lose track of how long you’re standing there, in the midst of Arthur Morgan’s tent, mesmerized by the flower, pondering its meaning to the owner when you hear a gruff voice behind you.

"Lookin' for something?"

The unmistakable voice belongs to the last person you wanted to hear from right now, resulting in you dropping the sealed jar. The sound it makes as it hits the nightstand and falls to the ground makes you cringe and you’re stuck frozen, not knowing if you should pick it up or just bolt. Choosing the latter would only make the situation worse. You barely dare to look in Morgan’s direction.

Both hands on his gun belt, Arthur shoots you _that_ glare under the brim of his hallmark black hat as he's waiting for you to speak. The words get stuck in your throat. You have no excuse, absolutely no reason for being in here. And you’re still weighing back and forth whether you should pick up that jar or not. Dammit, why couldn’t it just have fallen back on the nightstand. Arthur takes one slow step towards you, effectively blocking your escape route.

"Heard you been askin' questions 'bout me," he confronts in that low, half threatening, low-key growling tone of his. “Something’s on your mind, Miss?”

Not knowing how to get out of this predicament, and no one coming to bail you out you see no other way than telling him the truth. No way you can come up with a believable lie in your state of mind.

"I deeply apologize, Mr. Morgan." You start rambling, staring down at your hands, unable to hide the tremors in your voice. "It’s just that I thought, when I-I saw how kind you were to that soldier from the war and I-"

Noticing Arthur further closing the distance between you two, you stop rambling, further lowering your head. _Just tell him it like it is, fast._

"I-I think- I thought I may have misjudged you and I –“ feeling your knees about to give in, you pause to take a deep breath, your cheeks burning.

“Last few days I have really wanted to talk to you but I-I never knew what to say so I thought I'd just look around here and maybe I learn a little more about you, Mr. Morgan.”

By now, Arthur's face has softened noticeably but you’re oblivious as you still don’t dare to look at him.

"I didn’t mean to invade your personal space, Mr. Morgan. I mean, I just did and, and for that, I am so sorry. I-I know it was wrong of me. Please, don't be mad."

Arthur feels a stab of guilt for making you so uncomfortable - and also more than a little flattered that you show such interest in him though he can’t quite understand why.

“You know, you could’ve just asked.”

“Yes Mister, I know.”

Reassurance has never been his strong suit. He’s thinking of how to best assure you that he’s not mad, but the noticeably softer tone in his voice is all the assurance you need. You both concurrently crouch to pick up the box with the flower, resulting in your heads colliding, making an already tense situation even more awkward. A choir of mutual apologies ensue. Arthur puts his hand on your elbow, lending his support as you both rise.

“Oh, leave her be, Arthur. She didn’t mean no harm.”

Finally someone intervenes! Arthur turns to Tilly, giving you a chance to flee, oblivious to Tilly hinting in a not-so-discreetly manner that Arthur goes after you.

You hide behind dense vegetation and sit down on a log near the cliffside, mentally cussing yourself out. Your hands are trembling. No way you could ever look Mr. Morgan in the eyes after this. A shadow to your left makes you lift your head from your palms, hoping it's Tilly coming to offer her moral support. It is not.

“I, eh, Miss Jackson thought I should - I, um, mind if I sit?”

You shrug, not knowing how else to respond. As Arthur sits down, your heart picks up pace. You realize you’ve never been this close to him before. Save from that head-bump a moment ago that is.

“I wasn’t really mad at ya, Miss. Lord knows I go ‘round poking my nose in other people's personal belongings too.”

You feel a little bit better. No, a whole lot better. You give him a coy smile. How had you not notice before how pretty his eyes are? Your companion returns your simper.

"So, what ya wanna know?"


End file.
